I went blackberry picking last week.
It was a wonderful feeling.
The smell of the woods.
The nicking of the blackberry vines.
The heat of the day.
The juice of the berries.
Stink bugs on the leaves.
There are feelings and memories that flood me when I pick blackberries.
I remember one year when I was a teenager, a neighbor of ours had some bulldozing done on his property. The trees and such were pushed up into long rows of brush. These huge piles of brush were covered with blackberry vines. My parents and I would put on long sleeve shirts, hats, and jeans and pick blackberries to sell by the gallon. It was so hot....it was so snakey...I hated it. But, the blackberries sold for a nice price.
Now, I pick blackberries because I want to. Go figure. And I love the effort it takes, because that just makes the cobbler taste that much better.
A little butter...
A little ice cream...
Now, I don't even notice the scratches on my arms.